


stellar nucleosynthesis

by elareine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Big Bang Challenge, Broning, Character Study, Coitus Interruptus, Coming Out (discussed), Curse-Breaker Danny, Drunk Handjobs, Friendship, High School, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Prague, Sexual Identity, Truth Spells, Worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You should stay with me,” Claude blurts out. Danny just looks at him expectantly, already retracting his hand from the phone, waiting for the inevitable “Or Crosby will stand in front of my door again”.</p>
<p>But there’s nothing, just Claude clenching his jaw, and Danny wants to ask so badly. He’s never let himself dream, but now Claude is telling him to stay, and Danny can’t smother the hope that’s rising in him like a blue flame. </p>
<p>(Three relationships that changed Claude's life. Friendship, sex, love.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stellar nucleosynthesis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hockey Big Bang 2015, with many thanks to the organiser(s). Pikasafire's soundtrack and art will be added tomorrow :D
> 
> Prettylittlepliers did, as always, an amazing beta job. I don't know how she does it. 
> 
> There's some mentioned of bullying, violence and homophobia in the first section, but it's not very detailed. The "Jakub" section begins with a discussion of being forced to come out, but it doesn't actually happen. They're a little drunk during their first time messing about, so there are some consent issues there. I've tried to avoid them as much as possible in the third part, and neither sex nor love confession happens while anyone is under influence of a truth spell, but they probably wouldn't have happened otherwise.

**Lucas**

 

Lucas is thirteen going on fourteen when he meets Claude Giroux. Privately, he thinks of it as a bit of a script:

Setting: École secondaire catholique Béatrice-Desloges (ESCBD) in Orleans, Ontario in September 2002

Actors: Lucas Tremblay (student, grade ten), Claude Giroux (new student), Mdm. Marguerite Nadeau (teacher), assorted other students  
  
Scene description: A new student arrives in homeroom 10.2. Immediately, a problem arises - there are already two students named Claude in this year, one of which is in this homeroom. Slapstick and confusion follows.

Well, actually, it’s not quite that much slapstick. The newbie just shrugs and says, “Yeah, that happens. I’m fine with just Giroux.”

Madame Nadeau nods, highlights his last name in her book, and bids him sit down next to Lucas. After they’re done with the usual speeches at the beginning of the year and a brief prayer, Lucas turns to him. “Hi, I’m Lucas.”

Giroux raises an eyebrow. “Only one of that name here? Really?”

Lucas laughs. “No, but I was quickest claiming it.”

Giroux chuckles. “I see.”

They turn into the hallway. “You don’t mind though, you said?” Lucas makes sure to check. It’s a bit difficult to be the new guy; he doesn’t want to pressure him into something that makes him uncomfortable.

But Giroux just shrugs. He’s got very expressive body language, Lucas notes, unlike most young men their age who are intent on projecting an image of stoic, mysterious manliness. “I’m a hockey player, I’m used to it.”

“Oh? What team do you play for?”

“Just started to play for the Cumberland Barons, actually. We only moved here two months ago,” Giroux explains. “You play?”

Lucas shakes his head. “I’m in the PSA program - that’s the _programme spécialisé en art_ , they’ve probably told you about that - it takes away too much time to do anything more serious than the occasional pond hockey.” That’s one reason, at least, and the only one Lucas is comfortable disclosing to someone he just met. “I watch Habs games when I can, though,” he offers.

Giroux’s face brightens. “Yeah, they’re my team, too. I mean, I guess it won’t matter where I’ll play as long as I’m in the NHL, or at least drafted, but still, would be neat to live somewhere where they speak French, right?”

Lucas agrees. “Yeah. You’ll find there’s a lot of French-speakers around here, too, though. It’s quite good, for Ontario.”

Giroux snorts. “Not enough to make me a Leafs fan, I tell you. Hey, you got biology too?”

They’re standing in front of Lucas’ next class, according to the schedule in his head, so yeah, looks like he found someone to sit next to. “Looks like it.”

Giroux grins. “Awesome.”

 

And that’s it, they’re friends. Of course, being assigned baby fire-lizards (not _dragons_ , even Canadians aren’t that crazy, but, you know, small lizards that breathe fire) helps.

Giroux looks really funny with a singed eyebrow. It takes a while for Lucas to stop laughing enough to actually get the little pests to sleep with his flute.

“Huh.” Giroux says. “That has to be useful.”

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, well, and a little bit creepy. I prefer non-gifted music, to be honest.”

“But imagine,” Giroux sounds so earnest, “what you could do!”

“Like what?”

“Like… shutting up my sister.”

“Terribly important, yes,” Lucas deadpans. Still, it’s nice that someone’s happy about it.

 

“Your friend is nice,” Lucas’ mom tells him after Giroux has stopped by for homework and dinner for the third time that week. “You like him?”

Lucas deliberately pretends to misunderstand. “Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have invited him. You think I hang out with people I hate, maman?”

His mother just ruffles his hair. “Oh, you know what I mean. He’s cute.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lucas admits. Although it’s a little gross that his _mom_ noticed that. She shouldn’t be looking at teenage boys. Eww.

 

Going to Giroux’ games is unexpectedly fun. He can bundle up, usually in one of his friend’s jerseys, and no one pays him any mind except on the occasions when Giroux’ parents are there. They always make him sit with him and hold up their homemade banner. If they think there’s anything weird in another boy wearing their son’s sweater, they don’t show it. Giroux’ mom always makes sure to stop by Timmies on the way to the rink and get everyone a hot chocolate, so that’s nice, too.

As far as he can tell, Giroux is quite good, one of the best of his team, but he’s not exactly built or anything. Doesn’t keep him from getting into fights, though. His mother even cheers him on when he takes revenge for a (much bigger) teammate, to the intense disapproval of his father and his sister. Lucas doesn’t quite get that family, to be honest.

So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when he gets out of dress rehearsals to find Giroux scrapping with Francois from homeroom 10.1. His hair is in his face and he looks a little ridiculous, holding down someone far taller and broader than him, but still he is the one on top and Francois the one trying to shield his face with his bare hands.

“Stop!”

“Apologize.”

Lucas can see Francois put on some last resistance, his struggle reviving for about twenty seconds. Claude holds on to his hands, driving his knee down into his stomach in a move that made Lucas wince in sympathy.

“Alright, alright!” Francois calls out. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Giroux stares down at him for one long moment more, then he jumps up, clearly prepared for Francois to lash out at him again. But the fight has gone out of the other boy. He scrambles to get away.

Lucas cleared his throat. “So. What was that about?”

Giroux starts and turns around. “Lucas? Uh, sorry. Got into a… well. Let’s go.”

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly even as he falls into step with Giroux, making their way towards the bus stop. “Come on, what happened? He attack you?”

“Not exactly…”

“So what happened?”

Giroux looks away and mumbles, “He called you a queer creep. And other things.”

Huh. “I mean, he’s not wrong,” Lucas answered carefully.

Giroux actually looks affronted at that. “You’re not a creep!”

That makes Lucas laugh. “Thank you, I guess. Still, that’s not much in comparison.”

Aaaand Giroux is looking away again. At least he’s as uncomfortable as Lucas with this conversation. They haven’t really talked about this. Giroux knows Lucas is in the GSA, and Lucas hasn’t exactly made a secret of his inclinations. He is in the music program and the theatre club, for God’s sake, there isn’t really much left except embracing the stereotype. He just hasn’t been vocal about it, either.

“They always say that at hockey practice, too, all the time,” Giroux mumbles, kicking at pebbles on the ground as he walks. “They say queer like it’s something bad.”

“Yeah.” Lucas hesitates for a second, then, “That’s one of the reasons I stopped playing.”

Giroux scowls. “I don’t want to do that. They’re idiots. They don’t even know I’m bi, they just fling around whatever they think is insulting. It’s like calling players girls. Like, have they seen female players? There’s probably queer players in the NHL right now that they look up to. It’s bullshit. I’m not gonna let them stop me.”

Lucas blinks. Well that was a casual bombshell. He had no idea that Giroux is anything but straight. Shows what you know, he tells himself. Assumptions and all that. It’s difficult not to ask, but then again, what would he say? _Oh, I didn’t know that?_ Duh. _You’re bi??_ As if Giroux hasn’t dropped that in so casually on purpose. If it was accidental, just coming out of anger, than it would embarrass him even more if Lucas asked that kind of superfluous question. _Do I have anything to do with that realization?_ Yeah, no.

So he settles for, “Yeah, I get that. It wasn’t the only reason.”

Giroux looks up at that, eyes wide. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean that- I mean, it’s totally valid to say that it just takes out the fun or whatever, I wasn’t implying-”

Luas can’t help it, he has to laugh at his frazzled friend. “I know, I know.”

Giroux looks like he still wants to apologize, but the arrival of the bus thankfully interrupts him. They ride home in silence.

 

After that, it’s really difficult not to get his hopes up, especially when Claude shows up for a GSA meeting. It’s a social gathering, and most people seem to assume he’s there for Lucas, but Lucas has seen the process of coming out (he tries to suppress the image of a very fluffy bird Giroux hatching from his egg), and this is a huge step.

It’s nice, everyone chatting in a friendly way (by which he means gossiping shamelessly) and eating cupcakes. Giroux enjoys it, Lucas thinks, watching him smiling and relaxed, talking with his hands as he describes an amazing play he pulled at yesterday’s game.

But Giroux doesn’t come back.

 

The Christmas concert is coming up. Lucas wants to throw up at the thought.

“I’m just not ready”, he complains - okay, whines to Giroux after school. “There’s only a week to go, and I keep on dropping notes.”

Giroux looks at him. “Lucas. Our music teacher cried when you played that Christmas carol yesterday. You’ll be fine.”

“But what if I was just projecting my own emotions and just made her really unhappy?”

Giroux puts a hand on his shoulder. “You told me you haven’t done that in ages. I doubt you’re nervous enough to do it now.”

“But you don’t know that!” Lucas is aware he’s sounding needy and hormonal, but his nerves are shot to hell. The four cups of coffee today probably aren’t helping.

He feels Giroux’ hand tighten. “Tell you what. Let’s go to the practice room, you play for me and I tell you if you influenced me, okay? I’m not gonna lie. I have no defenses whatsoever to magic. If you don’t get me, you’ll never get someone as tight as Madame Givenche.”

Against his will, Lucas feels a smile coming on. “That… would be good. Thank you.”

Giroux smiles back. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” He’s leaning in a bit, closer now than they’ve ever been before, and just for a second, Lucas thinks- hopes- maybe-

But Giroux just squeezes his shoulder again and draws back. “Get your flute, then, piper boy.”

Lucas’ disappointment is drowned out by dread. “Oh no. Don’t call me that.”

Giroux grins. “Problem, piper boy?”

Lucas just groans.

 

In January, Christmas concert survived, their physics teacher assigns them a rather… special project.

“You have until the end of the term to complete this project. It will make up 40% of your final grade. Please work in pairs or groups of threes.”

Lucas feels Giroux’ elbow nudge his side and nods without looking away from their teacher.

“In those months, I’d like you to create a star.” Madame Turcotte says. A whisper goes through the class, but she ignores it and just points to the row of folders on her desk. “Each group will receive one folder with most of the information you need. I expect you to supplement this with your own research and readings. In two weeks, you will hand in a list of materials and I will supply them, within reason. My advice: Think generously, you will need more than you think.”

Lucas is taking notes now.

“There will be two short presentations, one in February, one in March. I’ll assign the dates. You will also hand in a twenty page report with your final product.”

Giroux groans. “This is going to take ages.”

Of course, Madame hears him. “Yes, Claude, so I expect you to work hard and continuously throughout the term. Now. Please put the name of your group members on this sheet and take one folder per group. You have the rest of this lesson to plan your campaign.”

Lucas hears more than sees Giroux’ head meet the desk.

 

Despite his initial misgivings, Giroux is the one that’s most excited when the molecular cloud they’ve created collapses into a miniature star.

“That’s so awesome”, he says, clearly awed. “And it’s not even magic.”

Lucas laughs. “Well, it is, kind of? Without the barrier or the ingredients like stardust… Nulls wouldn’t be able to do it, after all. They had to find an alternative for Chris and Marie.”

“Fair enough,” Giroux gives in. “Still, it’s alchemy. Someone like me can do this. Our own star, Lucas!”

“You could do it if you studied enough to actually understand the texts,” Lucas teases him, but admits, “but yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

They’re silent for a moment, looking at the tiny sun growing in a corner of Lucas’ bedroom. It gives off a tiny glow, and Lucas switches off the light so they can admire it.

“It’s getting brighter,” Giroux whispers.

Lucas looks at him. They’re standing close again. It’s been happening more and more. He looks up, and thinks, Kiss me. The longing behind that thought is a little surprising, even to him, but seriously, here is this guy, this jock, funny, unexpectedly sweet, and he’s looking at Lucas like he’s both the best and most frightening thing in the world.

That thought makes Lucas step back and switch the light back on. He doesn’t want Giroux to be frightened.

 

Three days later, Giroux tells him he’s thinking of asking out Marie. Lucas tells him to go for it.

 

Two years and ten months after their first meeting, Giroux leaves to go play for the QMJHL. The OHL hasn’t drafted him despite being the Baron’s leading scorer both seasons and the CJHL's Rookie of the Year, but Gatineau wants him anyway, and Lucas can tell Giroux is determined to prove them right.

“I’ll show them,” he tells Lucas, and Lucas nods. Of course Giroux will.

There is no awkwardness when they hug. Lucas isn’t ashamed to say there are tears in his eyes when he says, “You better stay in touch or I’ll castrate you.”

It’s a testament to how much time they’ve spent together that Giroux just laughs. “C’mon, I’d never survive without your help.”

Great, that doesn’t really help with the tears. “Well, with you becoming famous and all that…”

Giroux just looks at him. “Lucas, I didn’t even act on my crush on you because I like you as a friend so much. I’m not gonna forget you over some douchebag hockey players.”

“Well, same here!”

They stare at each other. Then they’re laughing.

 

Jakub

 

It starts on a warm, rainy afternoon in September. Brayden is out with his boys. Jakub, feeling battered, opted to spend the day with G, who was still suffering from a tenderness in his ankles and wasn’t willing to compromise them with some partying. So it’s just the two of them lounging on the couch. Three women on tv are screaming at each other while a fourth one slowly turns into a frog. Then something is exploding in the background. There’s a reason “Hedgewitches of New Jersey” is Jakub’s favourite American show.

G even brought out the good beer and is laughing at the tv with Jakub. It’s great. Jakub hasn’t seen him look so relaxed in ages - or well, that’s not quite true. G has been very relaxed this season. Very, very deliberately relaxed and happy.

So of course G’s phone, harbinger of more bad news than Agnes the Nutter, choses to spoil the easy mood. At first G’s just grinning lazily down at the message, then his good mood visibly disappears. Jakub suppresses a sigh. That’ll be Danny then, he guesses. That, or one of the team has done something stupid enough to warrant captainly damage control. For both their sakes he asks after the latter first.

“Did Brayden finally have that breakdown and start stripping in front of the paps?” He thinks for a second. “Or a policeman. He’d do that.”

G grins. “Nah, not yet. I doubt they’d call me for friendly relations with the police, anyway.”

Jakub laughs.

“Nah, just a heads-up from the friend I met up with last week,” G explains. “Apparently the paps tried to use some imprint powder on him cause they heard he’s sleeping with me.”

Jakub pauses. G occasionally hooking up with guys isn’t a secret in the locker room, but he gets that being out to the press is a whole different level. “But you’re non-magic, right?” he checks.

G nods. “Yeah, yeah, they didn’t find anything. Anyway, we’re not like that. Still, kinda creepy to think they’re onto those rumours and think it’s interesting enough to follow.”

“Well, Mr. Superstar, you’re news.”

“Damn right,” G winks at him, expression cocky as ever. Then it dims a bit. “Still, imagine they do that with someone I hooked up with. Guess I should tone it down, keep to girls or whatever. Can’t have them think I’m worth a story.”

“Shame, man.” Jakub thinks about that for a second. “I guess.”

G just laughs at him. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jakub is drunk and relaxed enough to just let that one slide. “Maybe you should just get a regular friend with benefits? Or - what was the term Brayden used for two guys?”

G thinks. “Oh god, he was so drunk… fuck-something. Fuckdudes?”

“That’s more of a question than a term…Oh! Fuckbuddies!” Jakub declares triumphantly. G starts cackling, and Jakub joins him after a second. It takes them a few minutes to calm down. Meanwhile, three houses are burning and the witches have flooded the wrong neighbourhood.

“Fuckbuddy, huh?” G laughs. “He only needs to be decently hot, not interested in the press, not looking for a relationship and good in bed. I have it on good authority from my sister that those guys are hard to find.”

“Maybe you should fuck a hockey player,” Jakub suggests faux-seriously. “Great asses, no interest in outing you. I hear Sidney Crosby is single.”

For that he gets a well-deserved smack on the shoulder. It would normally evolve into wrestling, but Jakub is safe in the knowledge that they’re both kind of injured and unwilling to fuck their bodies up even more, so he keeps going: “Or maybe the Schenns? I’m willing to bet they’d share. And Kimmo’s got that “hot older dude” thing going.” Ooops, maybe he shouldn’t have used that description. “Or maybe you need people with lower standards. I hear Seguin is up for anything.”

G is laughing again. Beer seriously does wonders for his personality. “I don’t think I wanna give our team doctors that kind of heart attack. How come you’ve left out the most handsome member of our team though? After me, of course.”

Jakub pretends to be flattered. “Awww, thank you, big boy.”

G throws a pillow at him. “Eww, no, I meant Wayne. I’m not going to have sex with someone who looks like an older and slightly more alcoholic version of me. Even a mirror-clone made in China would be better.”

It takes them a while to calm down after that. Eventually they return to the program and G frowns. “I thought that neighbourhood was on fire. Why is everything covered in roses?”

“It’s romantic, I guess?” G gives Jakub a sceptical look, and he amends, “Yeah, no idea.”

They laugh. Jakub is still a bit drunk, and watching these women on tv seems like the perfect inspiration to ask, “Would it be such a hardship then? Is sex with a dude so different?”

G shrugs. “It’s more about being able to go with who I think is attractive, not who fits a certain roster I don’t actually follow. But it is, a bit. That whole _guys are fiercer or more dominant_ thing is bullshit though,” he adds, and Jakub nods. He’s heard that and always thinks that people claiming that are clearly unable to handle girls that aren’t meek.

“Body is different for sure, in a lot of cases. There aren’t that many girls taller than me,” G continues, and Jakub laughs at the idea of him being towered over by a girl in high heels on the red carpet. It’s definitely something that needs to happen. This clearly doesn’t count as a personal topic, because G keeps talking, “hands are bigger too, which, uh, makes a difference. I guess flirting is more direct? There’s plenty girls who start it, too, but they’re more cautious. Understandably, I guess. But, yeah, different kind of code. Also it’s a lot more awkward to tell a girl you want to get fucked. So when I feel like that, I tend to go for men, but it’s awesome with dominant girls too.” He shrugs again. Jakub is amazed that he’s still talking, to be honest. That’s practically a soliloquy right there, if an awkward one. “Honestly, I think it’s just that I’m currently more into dudes.”

Jakub laughs at him. “Amazing explanation. You should do sex ed.”

“Unlike you, I’m better at doing than talking about it,” G shoots back.

Jakub grins at him. “Then show me, stallion.”

G stares at him. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

G hesitates for a moment, then a cocky grin takes over. Jakub’s head lolls back as he watches him get up and get something from his bedroom. When he returns G is holding a purple bottle: “X-tra tingling lube.”

Jakub is starting to feel a little awkward - is he supposed to do something here? But G is clearly happy taking the reigns, sitting down next to Jakub once again and going straight for his zipper. No point in foreplay, Jakub guesses, when you’re just trying to illustrate a difference, or whatever.

“Keep your eyes on the screen, if that helps,” G says, and then he’s drawing out Jakub’s cock with a slick hand and moving up and down gently, leaving out the head and balls for now. It feels good, the lube actually pleasantly tingling with little sparks, and he can feel himself chubbing up.

Still, he does as G says, looking at the screen and trying to concentrate on those beautiful women. Once he’s fully erect G starts honing in on his head. The first rub of his thumb across the exposed slit makes Jakub exhale audibly. Damn, that’s both slick from the lube and rough from G’s callouses. He can see the difference here, most women haven’t been able to hold so much of him at the same time, and their hands were usually noticeably softer.

He looks down, seeing a big, strong hand choking the tip slightly and teasing it with two fingers, and has to moan. Then, to save some dignity, he asks, “Is that lube actually giving out sparks?”

G laughs, “Yeah, man, but my last girlfriend loved it, and I got into it. Never tried some magic-infused lube?”

Jakub shook his head before it lolls back against the back of the couch, almost against his will. Damn, that lube was intensifying shit by a lot. The sensation was growing stronger, too, the longer the lube was in contact with his skin.

When G moves his other hand to fondle his balls, smearing the lube there and gently moving, Jakub’s eyes close. The hand that has been teasing the head moves down the shaft, too, then giving him firm upward strokes with a slight twist at the top, and Jakub isn’t remotely embarrassed when he comes a few minutes later with a sigh. That’s some skill right there.

He tells G so, and his captain gives him a cheeky salute. “At your service. Oh, fuck, now I have lube on my face! Eww.”

For the first time, Jakub thinks to check whether G is hard. Yupp, there’s a nice tent in those sweatpants. Too bad Jakub is feeling way too relaxed to do something about that. “You should, you know,” he tells G, waving his hand in the direction of his crotch.

G raises an eyebrow at him. “Wow, thank you for the permission.” Then, after a pause: “Although, I do have lube on my hands already…” And Jakub’s jizz, but no one is mentioning that.

Jakub decides to look back at the screen when G starts pulling his pants down. He can hear him move, soft slick sounds paired with occasional small grunts, but it’s surprisingly easy to ignore his teammate getting off a few centimeters away when there’s new drama unfolding on the screen.

By the end of the episode they’re both sitting there with their cocks exposed (and, at least in Jakub’s case, uncomfortably cool, he’ll have to go to the washroom soon to clean up and get decent again) and completely languid poses. When G passes him a beer from the cooler, Jakub clinks his bottle with his and they both smile. It’s cool.

 

It’s only the next day that Jakub starts feeling weird about it. He comes home after practice and thinks, _I got off with G yesterday_. That’s sex with a dude, basically, although it wasn’t very reciprocal, and Jakub never really thought about that before. He enjoyed it, definitely, no question about that, but he wasn’t actually attracted to G, he was pretty sure. Like, he’d never really noticed other dudes despite spending a lot of time around naked, built ones. He doesn’t quite think that fits into categories of sexuality as he knows them.

So he does what any self-respecting adult in the 21st century does and googles that shit. The Internet is so helpful sometimes, although there’s some difference between information in Czech and English. That Kinsey scale thing sounds like total bullshit at first, but whatever, it’s kinda useful.

He spends a good five minutes laughing at the term “heteroflexible”. Seriously, that’s amazing. He would be totally fine with being bisexual, even if his experience of it and G’s don’t seem to match. It’s not like he needs a label that badly, he decides. People on the internet say it’s fine to just roll with it, and that suits Jakub’s temperament just fine. It was just sex, in the end. If he ever experiences serious sexual and/or romantic attraction to his own gender, he’ll re-evaluate.

But it _was_ nice. Maybe they should do that again? G is short on casual sex right now, after all, and Jakub appreciates the lack of effort that went into yesterday. It’s even for the good of the team if G isn’t about to cause an accidental scandal (that shouldn’t be one, if you ask for Jakub’s opinion, but management is going to view that very differently) or whatever because he wants to get laid. He doesn’t see G get into a serious relationship anytime soon (he’s got his own theory as to why G’s “currently more into guys”), and neither does he see himself doing that.

If he’s honest, this is what it comes down to: convenient, drama-free sex with someone he gets along well with and who is likely to be very willing to participate. Jakub isn’t going to turn that down just because of some equipment differences, is what he’s saying.

 

So the next time they win a game, he makes sure to catch G’s eye and wink before inviting to watch some tv in his room. As he suspected, G just grins and follows him.

To his surprise, G makes sure to check that they’re on the same page: “Hey man, just making sure - no feelings involved, right?”

Jakub raises an eyebrow. “Getting a bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Who could resist this?” G grins. “No but seriously, I don’t wanna fuck up the team. And you’re a good dude, but… no.”

Jakub nods. He can respect that. “Same here.” For a split second, he thinks about asking about Danny - he’s not going to, he’s not touching that with a ten-foot pole if he can help it, but he does add, “And I’d like it to be a thing, but if one of us gets interested in someone or just doesn’t feel like it, we can quit anytime, yeah? It’s not a fucking obligation.”

“ _Fucking_ obligation, you mean?” G wiggles his eyebrows.

Jakub laughs. “If you want to.”

G seems to seriously consider that. “Nah,” he decides, “you should definitely fuck me on a day we don’t have a game though. But hey, you should be able to compare blowjobs - just actually jerk me off after, this time,” he adds as he’s pushing Jakub towards the wall.

Jakub promises, and then it’s on.

 

It keeps going like this for over a year, nothing too exciting, but there’s one time that wins the spot for Jakub’s favourite easily. He’s kneeling behind G, stretching him out with a patience he’s learned pays off. G likes to swear at him whenever he takes his time, but Jakub enjoys this, too, is weirdly fascinated by his fingers in another man’s ass.

Then G’s phone starts playing something soft and French.

Jakub pays it no mind, they both tend to just ignore calls whenever they forget to switch their cell phones off once they’re this far; so yes, he is just a little surprised when G lurches forward to take the call. Seriously, he’s got his fingers in G’s ass still, that’s can’t be comfortable. He moves with him for a second, unsure if he should take the fingers out or keep going or just sit here or what. It’s seriously awkward, is what he’s saying.

G is swiping right now and saying, “Hi, Danny, what’s up?” Jakub doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Looks like G means to have a conversation, though, so he tries to extract his finger gently. His nail catches against the rim, though, and G gasps, then blushes more deeply than Jakub has ever seen him do. Then he’s clearly telling Danny, “No, no, nothing just stubbed my toe,” and Jakub is seriously biting down on a grin now.

Danny doesn’t seem to be buying that, cause G’s next words are “Uh, well, maybe? No, it’s fine.” Jakub isn’t surprised. Danny is a hockey player with three sons. Doesn’t matter how straight he is, he’ll know how dudes sound when they’re interrupted getting off. Anyway, that conversation will end here.

Only it doesn’t, because G is following that up with, “Anyway, why did you call? Did Caelan get his college letters?” And then he honest to God settles down into the pillows, dick still hard, lube on his ass, completely ignoring Jakub in order to have a conversation on the phone about Danny Briére’s kids.

Jakub quickly grabs a pillow to smother his laughter in. He doesn’t want to out G in case Danny doesn’t know he sleeps with dudes, but oh God, he just can’t stop laughing. This is even funnier than G’s hatred for Sidney Crosby.

He’s still chuckling when G finally hangs up with a, “Tell Caelan I’m proud of him, okay? You too, Danny. Bye.”

At least G has the decency to look guilty when he turns around and faces Jakub. “Uh, sorry about that?”

Jakub waves it off. “No worries, man.”

G still seems to feel the need to explain, though. “It’s just Danny, you know? He’s still one of my best friends.”

_Friends, my ass_ , Jakub thinks. _He’s got his own ringtone on your phone, and you’re more interested in hearing about his kids than getting laid._ Seriously, how can Claude say that with that face and that voice and not know that he’s lying to everyone currently in the room, including himself? It’s maybe the first time that Jakub wonders why anyone decided Claude is smart and emotionally mature enough to be captain.

Still, he shrugs it off - what’s he gonna do, give a lecture? He can get back to fucking Claude now, so it's all good. If Claude’s gripping him a bit tighter today, he pretends not to notice.

 

**Danny**

 

“Fucking yes!” Carson yells. Danny lets it slide - Claude scoring a goal for Canada in a Worlds finale seems to him to be the kind of occasion that warrants a little swearing. Besides, he’s busy celebrating exuberantly with his boys.

Maybe they’ll invite Claude to the Olympics _now_ , he thinks. He’s certainly proved that he can be a team player, even if Sidney Crosby is on that team.

They watch the medal ceremony with pride that borders on familial, and then they make some grilled cheese sandwiches in Claude’s honour (and chicken kebab and salad, as well, but that’s not the point). It’s only hours later that Danny gets the text from Jakub.

_Come asap G gt hit by crse_ it reads.

“The fuck?” Danny asks.

Caelan looks up from his own phone. “Dad?” Danny ignores him and presses _Call_ instead.

“Hi, Danny!” Jakub greets him, sounding far too chipper for a guy that just lost two games in two days and had a teammate cursed. “Sooo, G got himself into trouble. Well, I guess it was a fan, really. Pens, probably, those “Do you like Sidney Crosby?” interviews might have pissed them off.”

“Jakub, what happened?” Danny interrupts him because he isn’t making sense - what did they do to Claude?

“A truth spell, it looks like. They’re quite popular here, you know. We’re much more upfront than you North Americans, and we like it that way.”

Danny feels a headache coming on. “So what you’re saying is that Claude got hit with a truth curse. And no one has taken it off him.”

At least Caelan is looking as weirded out as Danny feels now.

“You know how rare curse breakers are, we don’t exactly have one on standby during the party. Also, Claude said he wants you to do it. It’s not like I don’t get it, man. He’s been saying funny shit the whole time, but I can see how he doesn’t want strangers to hear him call Crosby a talented douchebag with a gigantic ass. It’s like he can’t shut up. So, you know, we’d really like him back to normal.”

Danny sighs. Oh, Claude. “Okay, I’ll be there,” he thinks about his trip to Berlin, it’ll be a night flight to Prague, too. “Tomorrow morning. What’s the hotel he’s staying at?”

 

He books a flight for that night, once again thanking his lucky stars that he has been paid the kind of salary over the last fifteen years that makes these kind of things possible. Then he sits down and starts searching for e-books on truth curses on Amazon.

It’s only an eight-hour flight, but Danny is glad he’s brought that study material once he’s on the plane. Usually he just nods off, used to catching every bit of sleep during his career as a player and father. His foot doesn’t bother him too much anymore either, definitely not enough to disturb his sleep. But he’s more worried than he’s willing to admit himself. He can only tell himself that if it was really bad, Claude’s teammates would have called a professional cursebreaker in, with his consent or not. Still, he doesn’t like to think of Claude in such a vulnerable position far away from home.

When he finally arrives at the hotel and heads towards the room number Jakub has texted him he’s a little surprised to see Sidney Crosby sitting in front of the door. He double checks the number. Nope, that’s Claude Giroux’s room being guarded by Sidney Crosby. And here he thought the day couldn’t get any stranger.

Crosby looks up when Danny approaches. “Brière!” he exclaims, looking happier to see Danny than ever before. At least he’s not the only one thinking this is strange.

“Crosby,” he nods at him, trying for a friendly smile.

“Giroux’s inside, but seeing how a simple “How are you?” is currently releasing a torrent of information, we didn’t want to risk staff knocking or whatever,” Sidney explains.

Danny lifts an eyebrow. “And they chose you?”

Crosby shrugs, looking vaguely sheepish. “Voracek needed to sleep at some point, and I was up already. It’s not like he isn’t on my team right now.” Danny suppresses an inner eyeroll. Of course Sidney Crosby thinks Team Canada belongs to him. Danny hasn’t been a Flyer for two years now, but old habits die hard.

Then Crosby surprises him with a grin. “I’m probably also the only person who would not be surprised at all to hear what he really thinks of me. I don’t think he usually holds back when we meet.”

Danny is startled into a laugh. “Uh, yeah. Anyway, should I-”

Crosby nods quickly, moving out of the way. “Yeah, of course. Uh, Voracek told him you’re coming, I think, but he gave me his phone,” he pulls the iPhone out of his pocket carefully before offering it to Danny, “didn’t want his agent or family or whatever to call, and we weren’t sure how far the compulsion to talk goes. Maybe he’s forced to pick up on calls, whether he wants to or not, so. Better be safe, I guess.”

Danny takes it from him and pockets it. “Makes sense.”

Finally faced with the door, he finds himself hesitating. Then he remembers that Crosby is still watching and just knocks, calling out “Claude, it’s Danny. Want me to come in?” That seems like a good phrasing, less ambiguous than “can” or “may”.

Claude’s answer comes in seconds: “Of course!”

Danny smiles and, with a last nod to Crosby who looks ready to run away, he opens the door.

He’s greeted by Claude’s bright smile and the tight hug he has taken to giving Danny after the buyout. Danny hugs back, lets himself enjoy the warmth of his friend for a long minute. “Hi,” he murmurs into Claude’s shoulder.

“Hi Danny, I missed you,” Claude tells him. It’s good to hear, even if Danny doesn’t want to admit it. Claude is generous with his affections and Danny is greedy for it, all the time, but he just can’t silence the voice telling him that maybe Claude doesn’t really like seeing him that much since he switched teams. Hearing that there’s still a place in Claude’s life for him is balm on that wound.

He squeezes Claude a little in response, then pulls back with a regretful sigh. “So what happened?”

Claude runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Honestly? No idea. We were sitting in a bar after the game, celebrating-”

“Congratulations on that, by the way,” Danny interrupts him, cause he hasn’t said it in person yet.

Claude grins at him. “Thanks. Anyway, celebrating, drinking, the usual, then I could just feel getting bound by a spell. No cackling, no explanation of an evil plan, nothing. I didn’t even know what it was until I found myself telling Seguin that his biceps are really nice, but he’s not my type. Kid figured it out immediately at that.”

Danny has to laugh at that. “So a disgruntled Russian fan, then? Or someone who watched your interviews about Crosby and wanted something to laugh about.”

“Maybe, yeah. I don’t really care, to be honest,” they both grin at that unintended pun, “I just want it gone.”

“Alright, let’s get to it, then.” Danny moves to take his kindle out of his bag. “I’ve read up on these spells, and it seems there’s one common way that can be cast without touch or personal items, so.”

Claude raises an eyebrow. “You did your research.”

Danny shrugs. “Long flight. I probably should have known this anyway, it’s a super common spell, but I’ve honestly never put much training into curse breaking. Might do more in the future, but as a kid I always just thought how useless it was for playing hockey.”

“I always figured it fit, since you’re so caring and protective.”

Claude looks so terribly earnest as he says that, Danny doesn’t know what to do with it. So he just points to the floor. “Sit down, and take off your shirt.”

“Alright, alright,” Claude obeys. “What for?”

“These truth curses get woven into the very essence of a person,” Danny explains as he kneels down behind Claude, mindful of the twinge in his foot. “That means they’re usually most accessible along the spine. I should be able to unravel and erase the curse best if I start there.”

There’s a faint blue mark on the back of Claude’s neck. Bingo.

“What, no true love’s kiss for me then?” Claude asks, and Danny thinks it was meant to be joking, but it comes out sounding wistful. He wants to ask about that, he really does, but he reminds himself that that wouldn’t be fair. Claude is under compulsion to say things. Danny isn’t going to abuse that.

Instead he just gently touches Claude’s neck, framing the mark between his fingers until the tangled knot of magic strands that make up Claude’s lifeline appears for him to sift through. As the books said, the truth curse is a bright blue that almost hurts his eyes, and it so tangled it takes a lot of concentration to even hold on to it.

He only has about half the thread untangled when Claude asks, “Danny? Are you okay?” and he realizes his hands are shaking. He gently tugs the strands back together and takes his hands away. The mark is a dull grey, now. That’s something.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I just don’t have enough power or practice do this in one sitting. We’ll have to do that again once I’ve recharged, probably tomorrow. I don’t even know if it’s because of lack of training or lack of gift.”

Guilt gnaws at him as he gets up on exhausted legs and leads him to ask, “Why didn’t the team call in a professional curse breaker, anyway?”

Claude, still sitting down, smile up at him. “I didn’t tell management. I’d rather have you. There isn’t really anyone I trust as much as you.”

Danny stares at him.

Claude frowns. “Why do you look surprised?”

Danny has no idea how to answer that. “I-”, he starts, but his grumbling stomach saves him. “...I’m apparently hungry and tired?”

Claude laughs and hauls himself up. “Room service, then? Their breakfast is amazing, and now that the off-season is here, I can even eat it.”

 

Once Danny has texted his kids that everything is alright and they’re sitting on the bed with a mountain of food they start testing the new boundaries of this thing. Claude still can’t lie, but when he asks Danny to ask him something, they find out that he can choose silence now, even though it apparently takes some effort.

“Still spending the day inside, though,” Claude says quite firmly. “I’m not putting myself at the mercy of hockey players and fans still roaming the city. I can’t just stay silent if someone talks to me.”

“PR would kill you,” Danny nods, then yawns and moves further down into the pillows. It’s not a good idea to nap - it’ll only make his jet lag worse - but the flight and the worry and the magic really took it out on him. He feels more exhausted than he had during his rookie season, and Claude is switching on the one English channel on tv now, firm and warm next to him. It only takes Danny minutes to fall asleep.

 

When he wakes up he doesn’t feel as chilly anymore, the worst of the exhaustion gone. His muscles are as relaxed as they can be these days, and he enjoys stretching them slowly, for once mostly pain-free as he extends his limbs before even opening his eyes. He bumps against something that feels like a warm body. It probably is, actually, now that he thinks about, he fell asleep next to Claude, after all.

Still, he isn’t quite prepared to find himself quite as curled around Claude, who is sitting up against the headboard, as he is. He blinks up in what he hopes is a questioning, still stupid with sleep.

Claude laughs. “I was gonna wake you up soon. No one is calling for food for me now that you’ve arrived, and it’s dinnertime.”

He doesn’t comment on the way Danny’s arm is resting on his hip, his legs pressed close to Claude’s, so Danny doesn’t ask. Instead, he makes himself sit up and suppress his yawn. “What would you like?” he asks, grabbing for the menu.

“There’s a decent cheese platter,” Claude says, and Danny laughs.

“Ok, and for actual food?”

Claude shrugs. “The dumplings and meat are just fine.”

“I’ll get the roast pork with dumplings and sauerkraut then, and a steak with potatoes for you. We can share.”

Claude nods, and Danny grabs for the landline, dialling the number from this morning. This time, he’s greeted in Czech, a jumble of syllable he can’t parse out well enough to even replicate.

“I’m sorry, do you speak English?” he asks, aware how rude he’s being.

“Yes,” the voice on the other end tells him, seemingly not bothered. “Room service here?”

“Thank you. Uh, we’d like to order numbers 56, 34 and 51, please.”

“Which room number, please?”

“Oh, sorry, room 104. Thank you.”

Claude is sniggering when he hangs, and Danny hits him more or less gently on the shoulder. “Shut up. I usually have hotel rooms in countries I speak the language of.” He pauses. “Actually, I should probably get a room myself, now that I think about it. I completely forgot about that.”

Claude is clenching his jaw again, he notes absently, already about to turn and phone reception to ask if they have any free rooms. He’s learned to wait out that expression, though, until Claude has phrased whatever it is.

“You should stay with me,” Claude blurts out. Danny just looks at him expectantly, already retracting his hand from the phone, waiting for the inevitable “Or Crosby will stand in front of my door again”.

But there’s nothing, just Claude clenching his jaw, and Danny wants to ask so badly. He’s never let himself dream, but now Claude is telling him to stay, saying that he _should_ stay, and Danny can’t smother the hope that’s rising in him like a blue flame.

But it would be unfair to ask now. Danny would never forgive himself if he corners Claude when he’s under the influence of a truth curse. He’s noticed before how private Claude is about certain things. Danny has no right to interfere with that.

So he just smiles and says “Of course,” in an unconscious mimic of Claude when Danny had knocked on his door this morning.

Claude smiles back. “So, a movie then?”

Danny nods. “You got your USB stick?”

They browse through Claude’s movie library. Danny looked at the folders with interest. “Did you just download any new movies that came out?”

Claude shrugged. “Pretty much. Single rooms can be pretty quiet.”

Oh, right, truth question.

“Caelan said “Begin Again” was pretty good, but then again he likes everything with Keira Knightley. How about that?” he suggested.

“Oh, yeah, Lucas told me to watch it because he loves the music, but it sounds like something I might cry at. How about the new Mad Max? It’s easier to download stuff here.”

Danny laughed. “Sure.”

They’d barely gotten through the first bloody scenes (“Who the fuck came up with the idea of a human blood bank?” Claude asks, and Danny replied, “Maybe NHL team physicians? If it kept Crosby and Malkin injury free, I wouldn’t put it past the Pens.”) when they’re interrupted by room service.

Danny takes the trays and signs the receipt (in that order, which is the kind of logistical challenge you’d think a hockey player with three kids would be better prepared for), and the evening passes with good food and hilarious conversations. They watch “Kingsman” next. Claude is apparently willing to voice all the questions and comments running through his head at the movies out loud, ranging from “What the fuck just happened?”, “Not the _dog_ ,” “Are you _sure_ this isn’t a Tarantino movie?” to “Did they just kill _Obama_?”

Afterwards, they finally get changed into sleep clothes and get settled on opposite sides of the bed. To his own surprise, Danny is still so exhausted that he falls asleep right away.

 

This time he knows right away that he’s curled up against Claude when he wakes up. This time, he lets himself enjoy it, even snuggles closer for a few minutes. Claude and he, they’ve never shied away from physical contact, but this is something else. He does note that he’s still on his side of the bed - it was Claude that rolled over and pretty much starfished him this time. Danny ponders that for a second. Maybe the curse has made his actions more honest as well?

He’ll ask Claude about this, he resolves silently, keeping his eyes closed. When Claude’s back to himself and ideally when they’re both in Philly. It just seems like much safer ground than Prague, for both of them.

So he just smiles at Claude when the other wakes up and asks, “Ready to get that curse mark off you?”

Claude yawns without bothering to cover his mouth. “Let’s get breakfast first, you’ll feel bad otherwise.”

 

After breakfast, Claude once again takes his shirt off. Danny has plenty of practice with not looking, but it’s hard not to stare when your, well… when _Claude_ is kneeling before him, perfectly trusting, the muscles in his shoulders and back relaxed, waiting for Danny.

And there was a reason for that, Danny reminds himself, as if the grey mark on Claude’s neck doesn’t do enough of a job to tell him he’s here for a reason. He’s feeling good - well rested and fed. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll clear Claude’s skin of this mark today.

Gently he puts his hands on either side of Claude’s neck. This time, Danny notices Claude’s gentle, but full-body shiver at the touch. _Honesty_ , he thinks, and begins.

It’s easier this time, the strands already loosened up for him, not glowing so brightly as to hurt his eyes, and it’s not long, maybe twenty minutes, before he has the blue strands separated from the sunny colours that make up Claude’s essence. He presses the ones that belong here back down gently, then tells Claude with a voice that doesn’t sound like himself, “This might sting a bit.”

Then he rips them off with all the force he can muster. It doesn’t make a sound, just Claude’s quiet gasp, but when he looks, both the strands and the mark are gone.

“It’s gone,” he repeats out loud for Claude’s benefit.

Claude turns around, looking concerned. “How are you?”

Danny smiles. “I’m okay.” His legs call him a liar by unceremoniously dumping him onto his butt. Claude lifts an eyebrow, but Danny laughs it off. “Seriously, nothing worse than bag-skates.”

Claude laughs, too. “I’m pretty sure that qualifies as “exhausting ordeal” for most people, Danny.”

“Maybe,” Danny admits, but his head is already clearing up and he can tell he’ll be able to get up soon. “It’s okay, though, I think I’ve slept enough during the last day to charge my batteries. What colour are elephants?”

Claude looks a little baffled at the non-sequitur, then he catches on. “Usually green with pinks stripes.” He grins. “I’d have been just as happy if the US won. Cheese tastes terrible. Crosby is a nice person. Philadelphia sucks. Danny, I can lie!”

“Very good.”

Claude’s grin gets even wider, showing off his missing tooth, and he offers Danny a hand.

“Want to explore Prague?”

Danny takes it. “Might as well. It’s not like I have the flight back booked yet.”

“Me neither. Or, well, I had one, but it left yesterday with most of Team Canada, so.”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t feel like saying good-bye?”

Claude raises his right back. “And put myself at the mercy of these people? In fact, let’s still avoid them. Especially Seguin, I’ll never hear the end of it. He’s staying for longer, too, so we probably shouldn’t visit the sex museum.”

Danny concedes the point with a shrug. He thinks for a second. “People in Berlin were always talking about the historical inner city and the castle. How about a tour?” He knew history wasn’t high on Claude’s list of interests, but Danny really appreciated knowing something about what he was looking at. It also helped avoid the kind of public curses that everyone knew and no one thought to put up signs in English about, in his experience.

To his surprise, Claude actually looked happy at that. “Jakub mentioned there are walking tours offered in English, starting at the church. You know, the one with the market place and the clock.”

“No, Claude, I don’t know,” Danny answers patiently, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be here, you know. We’ll have to ask the reception.”

 

So they ask reception, and then they take the bus and the tram into the city center. They get a little lost, having problems finding their way from the shopping area to the more touristy, historical part, but in the end they’re just in time for a tour starting at noon. The tour guide for their group is a history student full of anecdotes, sarcasm, and jokes about sausage and beer.

“It’s like being in Berlin again, just prettier,” Claude whispers into Danny’s ear, and Danny nods. Considering the history between these countries, it’s astonishing how much they seem to have in common. But then, Danny thinks, people would say that about the US and Canada, too. Superficial likeness, subtle divides.

Once the tour has finished and they’ve given a generous tip to their guide, they’re approached by a couple that had been part of the same group.

“Uh, excuse me, but are you Claude Giroux?” one woman asks in English, and Danny can immediately tell she’s Canadian by the accent.

Claude smiles at them. “Yes?”

They seem delighted, and ask for autographs. While Claude is scribbling something on their tickets to the final, the other woman tells him, “We always go to see your games whenever we're in Philadelphia. Good luck next season!”

While Claude thanks her, Danny turns away a bit more. No need to have her wondering how to deal with him; he knows he’s a difficult topic for some Flyer fans. Once upon a time, it might have bothered him that Claude got recognised and he didn’t, but now, weeks from announcing his retirement, all he can think is that Claude earned it. Not to mention that it would probably be a bit hard to explain why he’s in Prague with Claude the first place.

Once the two fans have wandered off, happily clutching their signed tickets, Claude turns back to Danny. “So, lunch at one of the market stalls, then the Jewish quarter with the cemetery and dinner at that place the guide mentioned?”

Danny smiles. Claude seems to be in a mood to indulge him, and he has no problems accepting that today. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

The restaurant is mostly filled with Czech people (a good sign, Danny thinks) and a few foreign students that are mostly speaking English. No one seems to recognize them and they get a table in a corner, which is nice and more private than anything they’ve had since the hotel room. Still, Danny is surprised when Claude puts down the menus after they’ve ordered and tells him in French, “So you have to know by now.”

Danny blinks at him in confusion, but Claude just keeps going, as if he really needs to get this out there or he’ll stop forever. “You have to know how I feel, you must have noticed yesterday. I’m sorry, but I just - I just want to know that we’re still good?”

Danny is incredibly confused right now, but there’s only one answer to that question. “Of course we’re good, Claude.”

The tension around Claude’s mouth and jaw that Danny is only now realising has been there all day begins to lesson. “So I’ll still see you this summer? I just - I want to. Need to, kind of.” He’s looking down at his hands, now.

Danny reaches over and grabs one of them. It’s a corner in a restaurant in Europe, he can damn well comfort his friend if he’s in such distress. Even if his guess about the source of Claude’s discomfort is making him want to smile, he thinks he need to make one thing clear first, “Claude, no matter what happens, the two of us are always good, and you’re always going to be welcome wherever I am, okay?”

He waits until Claude nods, then he takes a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m going to have to ask you, because I don’t actually _know_ anything, Claude. Just.” He swallows, searches for the right word. Decides to go all out. Claude still isn’t looking at him, but the grip on his hand is solid. “Are you talking about being in love?” He has to swallow one more time. “With, uh, me?”

For a second, Claude isn’t moving, and Danny is afraid he’s got it wrong. Maybe Claude just wants to come out to him, maybe this isn’t about him, why should it be, after all, Claude could do so much - but then Claude nods. “Yes.”

Everything in Danny relaxes. His exhale must be audible, because Claude is looking up and at him again, into Danny’s wide smile, and oh, Danny doesn’t know what to say, but Claude’s bravery deserves nothing less than the truth, “That’s good. Very good.” Understatement of the year after _Crosby and I have some history_ , but it seems to be adequate to Claude who is starting to smile, too. It still looks tentative, though, so Danny drives the point home, “Because I’m in love with you, too. I just never guessed.”

“Really?” Claude asks. Danny doesn’t know which part he’s asking about, the one about being in love or the one about being clueless, but either way he’s answering it with a nod, because of course the meat platter chooses that moment to arrive.

The mountain of food that is starting to appear in front of them is enough to distract them even from that conversation. A little part of Danny is glad - this is a way more public location that he’d have chosen for this - another part of him has caught the watery glint in Claude’s eyes and wants nothing more than keep talking. But. Honestly, that’s a lot of food.

“Jesus, are those four steaks of chicken?” Claude asks incredulously. “ _And_ four steaks of veal, _and_ four pork steaks?”

“Looks that way - and don’t forget the potatoes. And the dumplings,” Danny adds. “Oh god. This place would be a godsend during carbs-and-protein season.”

Claude has started piling food on his plate and is now trying a bite. “It’s really good, though.”

Danny has to agree, and for a minute or so, they just tuck in in silence. Then he catches Claude’s eye over a forkful of meat, and they both start laughing.

“Did we just have a, I don’t know, confession of love and then got distracted by food?” Claude asks, still chuckling, and Danny pretends to wipe at an imaginary tear.

“Barely five minutes into the relationship and the romance is already gone.”

That remark turns Claude serious again. “So, is that what’s happening?”

Danny smiles fondly. “Yes, Claude, that’s what’s happening.”

“Uh,” Claude swallows, “good.” He then seems to think of something. “What about the kids?”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “The kids that come over to your place all the time when I’m not in Philly? The kids that have literally send me off with about fifteen remarks about eloping to Europe? Who replied to my message about the curse being gone with a list of romantic places to see in Prague?”

For a moment Claude looks completely incensed, then he gives into laughter. “They didn’t!”

Danny grins. “They did. So I don’t think there’s a problem from their part. Not to mention that I don’t have to worry about you being good to them, which honestly would be my biggest concern if this was anyone but you.”

Claude shakes his head. “You might have to pinch me.” He considers that. “Later. I want to enjoy this for a bit, first.”

Danny laughs. “Do you mean me or the food?”

To his surprise, Claude looks pensive at that. Danny thinks he’s fucking with him and is ready to laugh again, when Claude speaks, his voice lower than it was before, “You know, I wanted to talk to you here so we’d both have somewhere to hide if this went wrong.”

“Makes sense,” Danny murmurs.

“Yes, but I could be kissing you right now, Danny.” Claude’s frustrated face would be adorable if Danny wasn’t abruptly feeling the same thing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind touching you right now,” he says, noticing how his own voice has acquired a slightly husky quality. Jesus, what this man does to him.

Claude visibly takes a deep breath, then looks determined. “So let’s eat and get back to the hotel.”

Danny smiles. “Sounds like a plan again, Claude.”

 

After that, it still takes some time to finish their meal - has Danny mentioned that it was _a lot of food_? Still, they both agree it’s way too good to be wasted or not appreciated, so they eat at a moderate pace. As impatient as Danny is at the prospect of finally being able to touch Claude like he’s wanted to for years, he’s enjoying this, too: sitting close and talking about family and hockey, their eyes meeting with knowledge that it was okay to look, something heavy but familiar in their gaze.

At some point, Claude mentions their training camps probably overlapping again, and Danny suddenly realises that he hasn’t even told Claude yet that - “I’m retiring.”

Claude puts the fork that had already been on its way to his mouth back on the plate. “What?”

Danny nods. “The latest injury just… isn’t good. My body’s just protesting at every turn now.” He shrugs. “I made with peace with it. I was going to tell you once I was back in Philly, I guess I just forgot with everything else? Sorry.”

To give him credit, Claude actually looks saddened at that, for Danny’s sake, he presumes. Then he takes a bite, brightens up and asks, “Wait, so you’ll be living in…?”

“Philly,” Daniel finishes for him. “That was always the plan. It’s the boys’ home, their mother is there, you’re there, and it’s honestly just as much home to me as Gatineau.”

Claude is beaming. “That’s great, Danny.” He immediately catches himself. “I mean, obviously not that you’re not playing, I never wanted that, but-“

“I know, Claude,” Danny soothes him. He never thought that for a moment. Then something occurs to him. Claude must have assumed Danny would go on to play another season with the Avs. That meant he thought they would be separated for most of the season, in the same place maybe twice or three time a year, at best - and he was still not even hesitating at a relationship with Danny. Call Danny a sap, but at the thought he feels his throat close up.

“Danny?” Claude asks, frowning.

Danny shakes his head. He must look a little amazed, still, he thinks. “Nothing. Just happy, I guess. It’s been a lot, today.”

Claude nods and goes to attack the last remaining piece of pork with renewed vigour.

 

They finally manage to pay and get outside. Danny expects Claude to head to the bus stop they used this morning, but instead Claude pulls him away from the bigger street, looking around for a moment. Before Danny can ask (and honestly, he doesn’t think he even needs to) Claude is kissing him, one hand on his cheek, the other gently holding his wrist.

Danny leans into him for a long moment. It’s only when Claude draws away that he realises he’s closed his eyes. Opening them, he’s faced with Claude’s wide grin, as if he’s had a dream of his realised or something.

Danny smiles back, and makes a decision. Grabbing Claude by the elbow, he tugs him towards the major street, pausing only to flag down a taxi and giving the name of their hotel. Claude follows without protest despite his apparent confusion. It’s only when they’re settled on the cramped backseat that he asks, “I thought we were taking the bus again?”

Danny moves a bit closer to him, lets their hands tangle between them. “I wanted to hold your hand.”

Claude looks down between them as if he can’t them. “Oh.” He sounds pleased.

_Honesty_ , Danny thinks, and adds, “I still can’t believe you let me.”

Claude’s hand squeezing his is more than answer enough.

 

There’s a moment, back in room 104, when neither of them seems to know what to do. They have had to let go of each other at the hotel, wary of other Team Canada members or staff staying behind and outing them. If that’s something that’s going to happen during Claude’s active career, Danny thinks privately, it’ll happen on their own terms, and certainly not when they’re about to fuck for the first time. But that’ll be a discussion for another time. Right now, he wants to finally touch Claude.

That thought propels him forward through the sudden insecurity between them and guides his hands to Claude’s shoulders, gently caressing his neck and delighting in the shiver that results. A sensitive place, then. When he leans up to finally kiss Claude again, Claude is already on his way to meet him, and their lips touch with a feeling of finality, like _this is it_ , like _stay here_ , like _of course_.

They kiss for a long moment, then Danny decides that there are way too many layers of clothing between them. What can he say, he’s seen Claude kneeling before him without a shirt twice in 24 hours. He wants the experience without the curse, and he has little doubt this will eclipse the previous two without any effort.

Claude laughs and obliges his tugging hands, stripping down to his boxes within minutes. Then he tells Danny, “you, too,” as if Danny’s intense scrutiny was too much to bear. Danny doesn’t mind, although in his mind, Claude’s roaming hands are more pleasurable distraction than any actual help on that quest.

He gets rid of his underwear with his jeans in one go. He’s not shy about his body and he wants to be as close to Claude as possible. Claude is pulling him into an embrace as soon as he’s done, and then they’re kissing again. Danny is planning to spend a good chunk of his foreseeable future kissing Claude. There’s just something about the way he opens his lips to him, carefully using a bit of playful teeth but not much tongue, that speaks of both experience and boldness. It make Danny want to crawl into his arms and never leave.

When one of Claude’s hand slowly, sensually wanders down his back and grabs his ass, Danny surprises himself with a loud moan into their kiss. He has been so intent on feeling Claude and having kissed the daylight out of him that he hasn’t even noticed that he’s been rubbing his increasingly hard cock against Claude’s thigh the whole time.

Now, he’s purposely tilting his hips up into Claude’s still clothed ones and feels a bit proud when Claude has to break away from their kiss to groan. “God, Danny,” he whispers.

The affection in Danny is threatening to make him tear up again, so he whispers back, “Why aren’t you naked yet?” His hands creep downwards, manfully resisting doing more than brushing Claude’s nipples for now. They both look down when he divests Claude of his last piece of clothing. The images of their cocks pressing together is blistering hot. Danny’s is quite a bit longer than Claude’s, but also thinner - Claude’s looks perfect for sucking and fucking, Danny thinks. Suddenly, he can’t stand the inches between them.

He kisses Claude again, just once, twice, fuck it, once more, then he gasps, “Bed.”

He feels Claude nod more than sees him, they’re that close. Close enough that their legs tangle during the few metres they have to bridge, steps that Claude is trying to take backwards so he doesn’t have to stop touching Danny. It’s more luck than skill that they tumble onto the soft covers rather than the floor. Still, Danny is lying on a chuckling, naked, aroused Claude; that’s enough of a successful outcome where he’s concerned.

He grinds down, feeling his dick press against Claude’s sharp hipbones. It’s both not very comfortable and a relief, so he does it again, and Claude’s eyes go half-shut. “Mmmmh,” he murmurs, and Danny echoes him, letting more of his weight fall onto the other man and grinding with more purpose, now. Claude’s cock feels surprisingly slick where it’s brushing against Danny’s belly with every movement, but his own will need something to ease the way if he doesn’t want to chafe.

It’s difficult to separate his mouth from Claude’s jaw, to be honest, but he manages to ask, “Do you have lube?”

Claude just slings one arm around his hips to hold him tight against his body and stretched the other out to the generic nightstand to his left, opening the drawer without stopping the movement of their bodies. Danny gets it. It’s a cliché, but you really want to be prepared for everything at hockey tournaments, and where else are you going to put stuff like this in a generic hotel room? At least the cleaners usually know better than to look there.

Danny shakes off the thought. Claude’s hand on his hips is more distracting than he thought, feeling close rather than possessive. It gives him an idea.

“I really want you to fuck me. If you don’t like that or if it’s too much for today, please tell me, but god, you’ll feel amazing.”

He pulls back a little to watch Claude’s reactions and isn’t disappointed. Claude’s entire face looks tense, for a second, as if that’s more than he can deal with right now, and Danny is fine with that, he meant what he said, but then Claude groans and tells him, “Yes, Danny, yes,” and well, that’s even better.

He has to kiss Claude again, then he takes the bottle of lube from his hands. The moment feels heavy, too heavy for Danny’s liking, so he smiles down at Claude. “You gonna open me up with those goal-scoring hands, or leave the work to me?”

Claude just grins at him and snatches the lube back. “That’s not exactly what I would call work.”

Danny watches him pour the liquid onto the fingers of his right hand, carefully distributing and warming it up without getting any on his left, and has to swallow. “No,” he agrees, thoughts of light banter vanished from his head. All of a sudden, he’s more aware of his hole than of his cock. Claude hasn’t even touched him there yet. Fuck, this is going to be good.

Claude strokes his left hand down Danny’s back in a move Danny is beginning to recognise and urges him up, just a bit, so he span his hand over as much of Danny’s ass as he can and part his cheeks. Danny bites down on a groan at the feeling of the first lubed finger gently massaging his hole. The area around is almost more sensitive than the inside, so it doesn’t take long before Danny is shivering with it.

By the time Claude finally slides his finger in Danny has given up on holding back his noises. Fuck it, these people hoisted hockey players at an international tournament for weeks, no one is going to be surprised. It feels good, a gentle stretch, slow movements that he’s pushing back into in no time. The look of intense concentration on Claude’s face when he slides in a second one is even better.

Then Claude is scissoring his fingers, really stretching Danny open now, and Danny has to grab for the lube and stroke his cock just to take the edge off. It’s like a chain reaction - the sight makes Claude swear, “Fuck, Danny,” and scissor a bit harder, a little less controlled, which in turn causes Danny to moan louder, jack himself a bit quicker.

He can’t keep this up for too long, though, too impatient to give back some pleasure to Claude and finally get on that dick. “Enough,” he tells Claude, who scissors his fingers once, twice more, three times, then obediently withdraws. Danny can feel himself clench around nothing as he leans to the side and opens the bedside drawer again. As he expected, there are condoms in there, too. As he tears one off and opens it, he’s surprised to notice his hands are trembling a little with impatience.

“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than Claude, but his partner agrees anyway with whispered, “Yes.”

Then Danny is rolling the condom onto Claude’s cock and barely waits for Claude to slick himself up before grabbing his cock by the base before sinking down on it all in one go. When he’s finally feeling Claude’s balls against his cheeks, he exhales a long, shuddery breath of pure pleasure, his shoulders dropping down and his head dropping back. “God, that’s good,” he tells Claude, who looks like he doesn’t quite know how to deal. It’s true, too - Claude’s thick, stretching him wide open despite the prep, and Danny loves it, doesn’t mind sacrificing a bit of depth for something that feels so good. Weirdly, it feels a bit like the butt plug he and his ex-wife used to experiment with, just better because it’s _Claude_.

For a moment, they both hold absolutely still, breathing harshly. Then one of Claude’s hands, mercifully lube free (thank God for self-cleaning products), grips Danny’s waist, the other one dropping onto his thigh, and Danny begins to move. Just a slow, careful grind. It feels good to him, stimulating all the sensitive places that make him moan softly with every downward movement, but most of all he doesn’t want to miss out on watching Claude. Claude, who is watching him with half-lidded eyes. Claude, who isn’t urging him on, isn’t thrusting his hips, content with letting Danny lead for now. Claude, who looks as if he can’t believe this is happening, as if Danny is most gorgeous person he has ever seen.

It’s powerful. Danny feels like he can do anything, be anything, when Claude looks at him like that.

He wants to give some of that feeling back, so he tells Claude, “I’ve never felt like this before, so good, Claude, so close,” he interrupts himself by a moan, “can’t believe we’re here, God…”

Claude’s eyes open wide and his fingers tighten their grip for a second, which is Danny’s only warning before he’s flipped over onto his back and has Claude’s face buried in his neck. It looks uncomfortable, but Danny’s arms act on instinct and pull him closer, allowing him to hide in his neck.

Claude is whispering. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Danny, you have no idea, just so much, Jesus, I’m crazy for you, just you, always, Danny.”

Danny feels his heart go tight in a way that has nothing to with Claude having started to grind into him again. He turns his head so his nose is nestled in Claude’s curls, pulls him even closer. “Yes, Claude, yes, me too,” he murmurs back, certain that Claude can hear him, so close are they.

It’s like a dam has broken for Claude, because he keeps talking, “You’re so amazing, I always wanted to be with you, have a future, still doesn’t feel real…”

Claude has to keep his lower back in an awkward bend, now, to stay inside Danny, but the head of his dick is pulling at Danny’s rim every few seconds, grinding in just that little bit deeper and almost out again. Combined with the words, it’s enough to have Danny close to coming. He almost feels dizzy with it, spinning out of control in a way he’s never experienced before.

“I’ll always want you,” Claude tells him and Danny moans as he feels himself starting to come against Claude’s belly. It feels like a long, gentle wave, satisfying in a way that’s not purely physical. Claude’s hips are stuttering and he’s biting down on Danny’s shoulder now, words having given way to low grunts.

Even when he is slowly starting to feel heavy and lazy with the afterglow, Danny has no intention of letting Claude go. Instead, he breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of Claude’s hair. He can feel Claude slip out of him and settling down a bit more comfortably. Slowly, unsure if this is okay, he slides one hand up onto Claude’s hair and, when Claude remains totally relaxed against him, buries it in his hair.

Slowly, they let their breathing settle down.

It takes a long while for Claude to come up from his position. Even then, Danny is feeling reluctant to let him go, an urgent desire for the bathroom be damned. Luckily, Claude must be feeling the same way, because when he comes back from the bathroom and finds Danny lying on his side, he moves in behind him and scoots closer until his face is buried in the back of Danny’s neck and his arm heavy around his midsection.

Danny just smiles contently and grabs his hand with one of his. His whole body feels relaxed, as if they have created a place where they are completely shut off from the world and things like public scrutiny, insecurity, rejection, pressure or injuries.

Claude must feel the same way, because he starts talking again, louder this time, but still intensely private: “I meant it, you know. Mean it. I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t really take in that you’re here now. I just. I want everything, with you, Danny. The kids, the press stuff, living with you, fighting with you, everything. I know it sounds crazy-”

“I want it, too,” Danny interrupts him, because how could he not? Claude has walked into his life seven years ago, quiet, dorky, competitive, and Danny has never wanted him anywhere but closer, no matter what he might have said out loud. He doesn’t know how to say that yet, so he presses back into Claude’s hold and says “I really do, Claude,” and hopes that is enough for now.

It highlights how vulnerable Claude is making himself here, though, all the words held back during a truth curse now spoken out loud, and Danny is just so happy about that, so honoured by that trust that he has to say, “Thank you.”

Claude murmurs something in answer, but Danny can’t make out the words, so hidden are they in his neck.

He smiles. It doesn’t matter. He’ll find out eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t mean to make it sound like romantic and/or sexual relationships are the pinnacle of life by picking these three out and not focusing on friendships that don’t have any of these aspects. 
> 
> Sorry for being vague about Prague. I’ve been a couple of times, I just forget what everything’s called. The meat platter is real.
> 
> Comments and concrit are very much appreciated!


End file.
